Dead Ringer
by Rogue Requiem
Summary: One-shot. Alternate ending to Point Blank. After Alex completes the assignment from Point Blanc Academy, he finds something...a little different waiting for him at home. Something that makes his blood run cold. But a good spy can't be held down for long...


**A/N: Hello, there! I never knew a one-shot would be in my future, like, ever, but I stumbled across an old English assignment I wrote in either tenth or eleventh grade. Part of it was to rewrite the last chapter of a book, and I chose to rewrite the final chapter of _Point Blank_, the second novel in the Alex Rider series. A little of the beginning is the same or at least similar to the actual book, but I made sure not to copy it straight out. The further the read, the more I think you'll find it deviates while also staying true to the novel. All the same, I hope you enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Alex Rider series. If I did, I would give the poor kid a break from time to time.**

_

* * *

Dead Ringer_

Alex Rider soon found himself, for the forth time in his life, in the office of Alan Blunt, the head of MI6. Sitting cross-legged in a surprisingly comfortable office chair. Alex realized that this place was quickly becoming a place of hate for him. The current date was May 1, a bank holiday in Great Britain, but Alex knew that it would be no such thing to the so-called Royal & General Bank, the building that was chosen as the Military Intelligence headquarters. No sunlight entered the building, which remained a dreary place Alex considered only a step up from a federal prison. Where most Londoners would be enjoying this rare glimpse of unadulterated warmth and sunlight, Alan Blunt kept himself and the rest of his coworkers in gray shadows.

Not for the first time, Alex wondered about Alan Blunt. Every instance where they had been in each other's presence, Blunt had rarely showed any emotion whatsoever, and his voice always remained in a calm, almost monotonous tone. Alex's eyes flickered around the office, taking in its features and those of the man sitting behind the desk that was positioned directly in front of Alex. Gray walls, gray desk, gray carpet, gray suit, gray eyes, gray life.

Finally, after what felt like hours, Blunt looked up from reading the files in front of him and addressed Alex. "I suppose congratulations are in order, Alex. Any person in your position would have had a hard time with this last assignment, but once again, you've proven yourself to be quite capable. MI6 owes you another debt it seems for all that you've done." He finished, not sounding very grateful at all.

"Please, you owe me nothing, and you know it," Alex replied, a hint of bitterness in his voice. Blunt's eyes widened slightly in shock, but otherwise, there was no change in his composure. "You and I both know that I will never receive anything from this organization. You've made that perfectly clear in the past, so spare me these politics and get to the point," he finished. Alex knew he was being very rude to his "hosts" but decided that he couldn't really care less at the moment. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mrs. Jones, Alan Blunt's second-in-command, shift uncomfortably in her seat.

"Yes, well…" Blunt began, "as you've stated so eloquently, let's get down to business. With Dr. Grief's death ensured, you have saved this planet's future. I can't really explain to you what kind of chaos his…" He struggled for the correct word to describe Dr. Grief's horrific test-tube clones of himself, "…his offspring would have created. They would have had money, certainly, as well as control of their 'parents'' businesses at some point in their lives. Quite ingenious, really. Forming Point Blanc as a school of reclamation for the sons of the wealthy, knowing that nearly every son would have a parent in an area of world industry that he would eventually control. The diamond market, media, and high positions in the government, to name a few. Having the parents pay fifteen grand per term no doubt helped his financial state as well. Then, he hired the plastic surgeon known as Mr. Baxter, who altered Dr. Grief's clones to look and sound exactly like the boys currently attending the academy. He would have sent these very beings, these clones, into the world while keeping the originals under lock and key until he disposed of them."

"You sound as if you admire him," Alex sneered.

"Not his actions or his future goals, but the way he was determined to see his plan in motion. His thoughts were organized so thoroughly that he knew every detail of his plot, down to the letter. He was willing to do anything to see it come to pass. That kind of determination is unusual in most people. Though it would have proved disastrous for the rest of us if he'd succeeded, that kind of thinking could be very useful to a person if used correctly."

_Yeah, given that they're not completely mad, though I'm sure that to Alan Blunt only a small percentage of sanity would do, _Alex thought sarcastically. Aloud, he said, "What has happened to the clones?"

"We've managed to detain all fifteen of them without too much commotion and will take care of them shortly," Mrs. Jones, her short, black hair hanging around her pale, business-like face and her dark, black eyes shining with focus, answered, speaking for the first time that evening. She was fiddling with her usual peppermint wrapper, popping the candy into her mouth. "Luckily, no sort of publicity has paid any attention to this incident, not that we've given them the chance."

"We've had to keep this whole situation under wraps, just like with the Stormbreakers," Blunt continued. "This whole cloning business, it severely disquiets the public. Sheep are one thing but humans! There could be so many fatal consequences with human cloning, as this last mission has kindly pointed out to us. All of the families involved have also agreed not to disclose any information about this. This isn't the kind of publicity they would benefit from. Ironic, seeing as these are the same people who believe that any publicity is good publicity as long as they spell your name right."

"Do you know how Paul Roscoe's doing?" Alex inquired, sadness ebbing its way into his eyes. Paul Roscoe's father, Michael Roscoe, had been killed for suspected odd dealings happening at Point Blanc Academy. Another man named Ivanov had met the same fate.

"He's coping," Blunt replied. "He'll have to. He's head of the family business now. Besides, it's not like he and his father were all that close to begin with."

Alex had to bite his tongue to keep from lashing out a particularly nasty comment at the completely uncaring MI6 head. Gritting his teeth, he asked, "How is Wolf?"

Wolf had been rather hostile towards Alex when the minor had first started training for MI6. The man had even gone so far as to shove Alex into a trip wire during training, causing the whole unit to fail and to initially blame Alex. However, Alex saved Wolf's career by ironically returning the favor; during a plane jumping exercise, the blonde, short-haired teenager kicked Wolf off the plane after the man froze up and lost the nerve to jump. Wolf became much more amiable towards Alex after that. He and his unit had been sent to raid Point Blanc Academy, with Wolf even succeeding in killing the horrifically muscled Mrs. Stellenbosch, the co-director at the academy. In the process, though, Wolf himself was shot.

"He'll make a full recovery," Mrs. Jones replied, sensing Alex's growing coldness. "He should be back in the field in only a matter of weeks."

"Wonderful."

There was a definite pause in the room, which was completely uncomfortable for those confined within it. Mrs. Jones never lied to herself. She was very worried about Alex, having a nephew his age herself. Looking at his demeanor, she saw how different he looked from when he first left for the French Alps. His jaw was set into a firm line. He looked older, far older than a normal fourteen-year-old should. What really set his past self apart from his present, though, were his eyes. No one as young as him should have eyes as cold as his. People say that the eyes are the windows to a person's soul. Looking at Alex now, Mrs. Jones clearly saw that his eyes had seen far too much, his innocence tainted.

Clearing her throat, she said almost in a motherly way, "You did very well, Alex. Is there anything else you want to know?"

"No…" Alex replied, standing up, "nothing else except…where were you?" He looked straight into Mrs. Jones' eyes and then, averted them sharply into Blunt's own. "Where the hell were you when I called you for help? What were you waiting for? I almost died waiting for you to act! I was nearly dissected in some freak Biology class, ran over and shot by hit men on some bloody snowmobiles, then nearly skewered to death by barbed wire to avoid being picked off by snipers!" By this time, his voice had peaked to a yell before calming down into a murmur. "So, I'll ask again, where were you?"

"Alex…you see," Mrs. Jones began, attempting to catch Blunt's eye for help, "it's complicated…"

"Oh, really? And what, _pray tell_, is so bloody complicated about answering a distress signal sent by one of your own agents, however reluctant he may be, especially when you promised that you would be there within twenty-four hours. Instead, you took––" Alex broke off from his rant, horrible realization dawning on his countenance. Sensing that Alex had come to the true conclusion, Blunt opened his mouth to convince Alex otherwise, but Alex was too quick for him.

"That's it, isn't it? You thought that because I was so disinclined to go there in the first place that I would send out a false signal to bring myself home! Without having any information!"

When neither adults replied, he knew he was correct in his assumption. He shook his head in incredulity. He couldn't believe it. He couldn't believe that they would think of him as a coward, as a shirker in duties and honor, and he said as much.

"You must understand where we were coming from, Alex," Blunt started. "You expressed every iota of your opinion how you didn't want to go. It was only natural that we––"

"Oh, shut up with your lies!" Alex shouted, cutting Blunt off. "The fact that I eventually agreed to go should have been good enough for you. If you knew my uncle as well as you claim, then you would know by now that I am _exactly_ like him in the fact that we believed in seeing something through to the end, or we didn't see it at all!"

Blunt attempted to interrupt him again, but Alex silenced him with a violent swear word. "I know for a fact that you don't care about me! Dr. Grief was going to kill me, but you didn't care. You've never cared! It's obvious now that spies are just overused tools nowadays, and in this sense, you and your organization are no better than Grief! What was that you said earlier, Blunt? Oh, yes, that Grief 'was willing to do anything' to see his plan come to pass. Is that not what you've been doing with me? Just using me to get you the information you need until I'm no longer useful? Well, I've had it! You can find yourself another schoolboy spy, because, quite frankly, I have a life, and I intend to live it until I keel over from eating too many prunes in my old age or something."

He got up and walked over to the door, pausing with his hand on the knob before stating as a mock afterthought, "Oh, and before you try to pull that blackmailing crap on me again, know this," he turned his head to look back at them, "I may have signed the Official Secrets Act, but if you plan on keeping me silent about how MI6 runs itself, then I suggest you leave me alone. I know too much about this organization for you to keep using me as a pawn."

He signed then.

"You know, I used to think this whole spy thing would be one big, exciting adventure. I suppose I should thank you for opening my eyes up to reality. I'll certainly never look at James Bond the same way again." With that added sarcastic note, Alex stepped into the hallway, slamming the door behind him.

Silence enveloped the office of Alan Blunt like a freak heat wave. After a few moments, Blunt went back to reading the files on his desk, which had been momentarily forgotten in light of the situation.

"He'll be back," he stated simply.

"Oh, really? What makes you so sure after an outbreak like that?" Mrs. Jones retorted.

"Simple. Spy work is in his blood. His uncle, Ian Rider, had been training him since he could walk. He's too far gone into our world of espionage to back out now."

"Alan, I'm worried about him. I can tell he's been hurt."

"Does he need to see the doctor?"

"Honestly, Alan! Wounds can hurt more than the physical state of a person; they can be damaging emotionally as well!"

"Oh… Well, then, should I schedule him an appointment with the white room?"

"I would hit you if I didn't know that you're being completely serious right now! That and I would also get demoted. But, you've never had children of your own, so I can understand how you can be so lost in matters that involve them. This experience hasn't damaged his mind, Alan, but his spirit. He's in turmoil with himself right now…"

"What are you trying to suggest?"

"That, for once, we listen to his advice! We _can't_ use him again, Alan. Regardless of his natural ability, he's still a child. He's not ready for––"

"We _will_ use him again," cut in Blunt, "and we will keep using him until he is of no further use. It's because he's a child that he is so useful. No one has ever suspected it. It gives us edge." His emotionless eyes flickered down to the file he was currently analyzing. "I have here, as a matter of fact, something that would be absolutely perfect for him. A little mission on _Cayo Esqueleto_, also known as Skeleton Key, in Cuba. And don't argue, we've had this very conversation many times before, Mrs. Jones, and I don't intend to move now." He paused, reading over the file once again. "We'll give him a few weeks to rest, then call on him again. Is that understood?"

Mrs. Jones opened her mouth as if to argue with him again but instead closed it in defeat before muttering, "Very well. But he won't answer."

"Care to wager on that?"

* * *

Alex walked along some street, barely aware of where he was going. He was still fuming inside too badly to care. Besides, he trusted his legs to know the way home. He'd always had an articulate sense of direction, and he severely doubted it would fail him now. Alex shook his head, attempting to clear his mind of the past few weeks, though he knew he wouldn't be able to. Especially not when he finally arrived home. He groaned loudly at that thought. Along with the grisly memories, there also came some rather painful injuries that he could never hide from Jack, as hard as he tried.

Jack Starbright was a redheaded girl who came to England from America to study medicine. After Ian Rider died, she had decided to continue to stay and live with Alex instead of going home. Recently, she had become his legal guardian. He still didn't know if Jack was short for Jackie or Jacqueline. Maybe he should get around to asking her that someday…

It was at this moment, when he was passing the school that he had spent very little time in the past few months, that he literally ran into Mr. Lee, the school caretaker.

"Whoa, careful there, sonny! You could get seriously hurt not watching…" he trailed off, seeing Alex's face clearly. "Hey, it's you again! But, hang on, what are you doing back here? I thought that you said you had to hurry home. And, what happened to your face?" he added, noticing Alex's injury.

The more Bernie Lee said, the more confused Alex became. What was he talking about? He hadn't been to school in weeks, much less his home. He also knew that while Bernie was old, he wasn't senile. What was going on?

"No disrespect, Bernie, but I think you have me confused with someone else," Alex replied. "I've been sick for quite a while and, er, just got out of the hospital, really…" He knew it was a weak excuse that even the most naïve wouldn't believe, but what else could he say? Yeah, he'd just come back from spying for Military Intelligence, isn't that what every kid did in their spare time? Not for the first time in his life, Alex hated this double life he was forced to live.

_Though hopefully not for too much longer._

"No, I'm sure. You came by here not ten minutes ago and greeted me," Bernie stated, "and, hang on, I thought you also said in that time you had been stuck at home with the flu again, certainly not the hospital. What's going on with you lately? You're not usually like this, Alex."

As Bernie continued his monologue, Alex swore he felt his heart stop as he came to realize exactly how Bernie had seen him before, despite the fact that Alex hadn't been near the school in ages.

_We've managed to detain all fifteen of them without too much commotion…_

There weren't just fifteen clones of Dr. Grief… There had been sixteen. Which meant…

"You're absolutely right, Bernie, I did come this way earlier," Alex quickly declared, just going along with the story. "This flu's got me all confused. Some special strain of it. Stigittothemunneosus, in fact," he finished lamely, just thinking of some word on the spot, before he turned and sped off towards his home as quickly as his legs would carry him.

Bernie watched his retreating form in pity. "That sickness must be a lot worse than we all thought." He shook his head. "Poor kid."

* * *

Alex arrived home in front of the elegant Chelsea house he shared with Jack five minutes later, panting and out of breath. It was at this moment that he really had no idea how he would handle the situation, if it was as worse as he thought. He'd never handled a hostage situation before. Crap, what was he supposed to do?

He decided that, in order to get a better feel for the situation, he should remain unseen for now. He crouched down and slowly, stealthily made his way around the house until he was directly under the living room window. He gradually craned his head over the window ledge to see who was inside and what damage had been done. The sight that met him was nothing out of the ordinary. The television was on some sports channel, but no one was in the room, which was also in perfect working order.

Alex ducked back down and made his way in the opposite direction towards the kitchen window. He knew that if any neighbors looked outside their own windows, he would have some explaining to do, but he wasn't concerned about that just yet. All that mattered was getting Jack and himself out of this in one piece. Finally, he made it to the kitchen window, and, as he did before, he carefully eased himself up to look inside, only to quickly shrink back again.

He had seen Jack turned to the stove, cooking what looked like beef stew that was already boiling quick feverishly. But nothing was very extraordinary about that. What was making his heart pump harder than a steam engine was seeing the image of himself, sitting comfortably at the kitchen table, conversing with Jack. It was, as he had feared, his doppelganger. Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he inched his head back over the window sill, making sure only his eyes and up were visible. He couldn't express the gratefulness he felt for the white kitchen curtains being where they were. They would hide him, especially if his clone or Jack didn't look too closely. He saw Jack turn back to the table, talking in mid-sentence with a peculiar expression on her face. She walked over and sat in front of his clone, further hiding him from view.

Oh, happy day!

He quickly maneuvered himself so that his fingers would reach under the window and pulled upward. They never kept the window locked during the day, and for once, Alex was ecstatic for it. He only allowed it to go upward about one inch. It was just enough for him to hear the conversation and for himself and the window to go unnoticed at the same time. He caught the middle of Jack's sentence.

"…acting so strangely since you got back. Are you sure you're alright?"

"Yes, Jack, I told you already, I'm fine. Trust me," his doppelganger replied. For the first time since Alex arrived home, he allowed himself a smile. Actually, it was more of a smirk. It seems that he hadn't been at Point Blanc long enough for the clone to perfect his voice, and already Jack was suspicious. He grinned. He knew that he'd always liked her, but now, how to get her attention?

It was then that he knew what to do, but would it work? He had no choice. Both of them were in danger from the Alex clone, especially if it was armed. Alex shuddered. He didn't want to think about what would happen if it had a gun.

Alex once again ducked down and shuffled his way over to the front porch. All those games of ding-dong-ditch were finally going to pay off. He ran up and rang the doorbell three times before hiding behind a bush near the front door. As he had hoped, Jack was the one who answered the door.

"Yes…" she started but stopped, seeing there was no one at the door. An annoyed expression passed over her countenance, and she started to turn back inside when Alex leapt, placing a hand over her mouth, turning her face towards him.

"Don't scream, Jack! Let me explain!" he quickly said. "I know this probably already looks ridiculous to you, and it's probably going to sound just as bad, but that's not really me you're talking to in there. It's this weird freak clone thing that the maniac headmaster created at Point Blanc, and it probably wants to kill me for ruining its plans, and…you do believe me, right?"

Jack's eyes answered his question since her mouth currently couldn't. At first they were widened in fear, but as he continued talking, she knew that this was the real Alex. She'd had this awful feeling ever since that…clone, was it? …came home. Seeing her understanding, Alex removed his hand and quietly ushered her to close the door.

She did as much, then said, "Jesus, Alex, you're lucky you had my mouth covered, otherwise, I definitely would have yelled 'rape' for all the world to hear!"

"I appreciate your humor, Jack, but we don't have time for that right now!" Alex declared. "Do you know if it's armed?"

"No. You don't think it is, do you?" she asked, fear coming into her voice.

"I'm not sure, but we've got to do something about it!"

"Shouldn't I just call the police?"

"No, this _cannot_ get out to the general public. Besides, they wouldn't believe us anyway. They never do," he added darkly.

"Well, then, go to MI6 quick, before––"

"No, Jack, I'm not leaving you alone with it!" Alex was far too afraid of what he would find if he arrived back too late. If he could go to MI6, he would. He wasn't about to let pride get in the way of ensuring his and Jack's safety, but it just wasn't an option.

"Look," he whispered hurriedly, "I want you to go in and keep it distracted. Keep the door unlocked and try to keep its back to me if you can. I'll try to incapacitate it then."

"Alright," she agreed, determination entering her eyes. "Be careful."

"You too."

* * *

Jack re-entered the kitchen seconds later, seeing that the Alex clone had remained where she last left it.

"Who was at the door?" it inquired in entirely the wrong voice. Jack scoffed at herself. How could she have believed the lie that Alex had gone through puberty, that being the reason for the voice change?

"Oh, no one. Just Mrs. Elliot from next door asking for some extra flour. I told her we didn't have any, but you know her. She had to go into a five hour rant about everything."

"Mhm, of course," the clone replied, grinning. "I could I have forgotten about her?"

That clinched it for Jack. Mrs. Elliot didn't even exist, at least not on this street. "So," she started, sitting in front of it, doing as best she could to gain its attention and hold it, "I'm glad you're finally back home from France. How was it there? I've always wanted to go myself, but I've never had the funds…" She was ranting now, she knew.

_Alright, Alex, any day now would be spectacular._

Seven minutes after Jack had gone inside, Alex followed her like a shadow and remained as quiet as one. After what seemed like hours, he finally reached the wall that gave way to a wide archway leading into the kitchen. He leaned against the wall, listening to Jack and his clone's conversation. Well, it was mostly Jack, clearly rambling about…beach towels and a slinky?

_Oh, boy, I only hope it's working for her, _he thought desperately.

He peaked around the corner and saw that, incredibly, the doppelganger's attention was completely fixed on Jack. He crept forward around the current room he was in, the living room, looking for something to knock out the clone with. His brown eyes searched frantically until he saw their old clock FM/AM radio with 5-inch speakers and a CD player. It'd be perfect, not too heavy to swing, and it wouldn't kill the clone on impact like a baseball bat might.

_Besides_, he reasoned, _we need a new stereo anyway._

He unplugged it from the wall and carried it back over to the archway with no noise giving his position away. Stealthily, he edged into the kitchen, lifting the stereo gradually as he went.

That was when everything went terribly wrong.

He had severely underestimated his clone. Also, there was a slight but noticeable lag in Jack's current sentence as her eyes momentarily flickered up to meet his, giving away his location and their plan. As Alex swung down, a shot rang throughout the house.

The clone had spun around, and Alex glimpsed a view of a gun barrel before the stereo blocked his eyes from the gun, which also intercepted the bullet that emerged from the weapon. The stereo shattered from the bullet's impact, and Alex fell backwards in shock. Faintly, he heard a scream. It had to have been Jack.

He hadn't realized until now exactly how much his clone looked like him. Every feature was flawless. The brown eyes that were staring at him, though filled with hatred, were exactly his. They were even wearing similar clothing. The only thing that was different was that the real Alex had injuries the clone didn't, thanks to his mission, and its voice was very different. Otherwise, it was a dead ringer.

The clone had the gun pointed at Alex's heart, but its eyes, _Alex's eyes_, were flittering between it and his head, trying to determine which death would be more painful.

The clone smirked down at him. "I've been waiting a long time for this."

"You can't do it!" Alex stated, trying to fake his way out of this mess he'd gotten into. "Face it, the Gemini Project is over! You've lost! There's no point in killing me. What would you gain?"

"Nothing, except the sweet satisfaction of causing the death of the person who killed my father!" the clone Alex sneered.

"What father?" Alex retorted. "Your father was nothing but a test tube, and you had no mother! It's pointless to continue this farce. Too many people know about the Gemini Project! You'd never last as day as me, in fact you're already failing! Jack figured it out a long time ago. Sorry to disappoint you."

"Well," the clone smirked, madness entering its eyes, "I suppose it's a good thing that it doesn't take much to please me! All I want is to see you dead and to also have the pleasure of killing your little friend here. You know what's funny? I wouldn't have even laid a finger on her if _you_ hadn't told her to come in here to annoy the hell out of me. I know that will cause you pain that you undoubtedly deserve for killing my father!"

"Would you get off whatever you're smoking?" Alex scoffed, "I just told you, you have no fath––"

"Shut up!" the clone screamed, its eyes livid. "We would've had everything! Absolutely everything! The whole world was going to be in the palm of our hands, but _you_ had to go and destroy everything we worked towards!"

As the clone continued to speak, Alex noticed its voice grow harsher with each syllable until he recognized how closely it resembled Dr. Grief's.

_Even in death, he haunts me, _Alex thought. Then again, Grief was the clones, and they were him, as the man had stated before.

Across the room, Alex saw Jack begin to move towards the stove. The clone sensed her movement as well, its head snapping around in her direction.

"Take another step, and he dies, right here and now!" it yelled.

Jack ceased her movement immediately, wide-eyed and fearful. Alex could see her shaking from his current position on the floor. The clone turned back to taunt Alex once again.

"Now, see," it jeered, "if you had been as intelligent as your friend is now, you and she wouldn't be in this problematic position. I no longer care what happens to me as long as you're dead. That's all I care about."

The Alex clone stared into its original's eyes with Alex glaring right back. Alex could see hesitation there. He knew that, to the clone, killing him would be like killing himself. They were too much alike. The doppelganger's hesitation was welcomed by Alex, though. Hesitation displays weakness. Whenever an opponent demonstrates it, be sure to take full advantage of it. Alex had been taught that long ago, by his uncle as well as his karate instructor. He wasn't about to let them down now.

Alex swiftly shifted his body to the side, swinging his right foot against the clone's ankles, effectively knocking it off its feet. A shot rang out once again, as the bullet hit the ceiling, knocking paint and splinters loose to rain down on them.

"Jack, run! Get out!" Alex yelled out, while simultaneously jumping on the clone's gun arm, attempting to wrestle it from its grip. He was unaware if she'd complied or not, his attention focused elsewhere. Somehow, they'd both managed to get to their feet, still trying to get the gun away from the other. Another bullet hit through the roof, pouring more debris on them. Neither seemed to budge from their locked embrace, even when one was trying to sling the other off of him. Only when the clone bit down hard on Alex's hand did he finally let go. Seeing Alex retreat, the clone slung the gun around, took aim, and was about to fire when what appeared to be a giant blur knocked into it. The gun went off, and Alex dodged as quickly as his body would allow, feeling the bullet cut through the side of his arm like a sharpened dagger. He winced, his teeth clenched together, at the pain cause by just that minor graze. He knew it would've been ten times worse if the bullet had struck elsewhere.

He looked up to see that Jack had now entered into their dance of death, punching a scratching his clone, making sure that the gun was pointed anywhere other than him. Remarkably, the clone seemed to be even stronger than he or Jack was. It managed to put enough space between itself and Jack, and while still holding onto the gun, kicked her in the stomach. Hard. Alex watched in horror, seeing her fall back against the wall with a sickening crack as her head connected with it. She lay there, slumped, clearly knocked out.

The doppelganger began to laugh, swinging his gun arm back around to where Alex was standing, only to find that he had completely vanished. He snarled his teeth in frustration, following through the archway into the living room. He saw that his original could have gone a number of ways. He could have hidden in this very room, fled upstairs to hide in the rooms found there, or he could have left the house completely. The clone ruled out the last option. It knew his dear original would never have left his friend behind, so he would have never gone outside.

That was its mistake.

Frustrated, just wanting to find Alex and kill him, it yelled out in blind rage, "Where are you!"

"Here," a voice whispered behind it.

Before it could turn around, it experienced what felt like a red-hot iron brand pierce its entire skin. Alex had swung the pot holding Jack's beef stew against its head, also spilling its contents, still boiling, on its whole body. The clone cried out in a blood-curdling scream that Alex was sure all of London had heard. Alex also knew that he had to get out of the living room and fast because, even though the clone was in unimaginable pain, it wouldn't die from it. It could still shoot him. Sure enough, as Alex had rounded the kitchen corner, he felt a bullet shudder into the wall behind him. The clone stumbled into the kitchen, temporarily blinded. That's when Alex made his move.

He clenched one of the cherry wood kitchen chairs, lifted it off the ground, and, with remarkable strength born only through his adrenaline rush and sheer desperation, hurled it towards the clone.

It smashed into its body, making the same sickening crack that Jack's head made when she'd hit the wall. The clone would probably have a few broken ribs at least. The impact of the chair sent both it and the clone flying out of the glass window, shards falling in every direction. Alex approached the window, or what was left of it, fearing what he would see. There, in their very front yard, with what was once a beautiful chair perched on top of it, was the Alex clone with glass shards and hot boils sticking up all over the whole of its body. Blood dripped onto the dried, yellow grass from the various wounds and glass. From what Alex could see, its shirt was ripped, revealing an already bruised midsection from the chair's collision with it combined with, yes, broken ribs. The gun lay limply in its hand. If it wasn't dead yet, it would be soon.

Alex turned away in disgust. He really didn't want to kill it. It was, after all, like killing himself, but what else was he supposed to do?

What the clone hadn't known was that Alex did indeed slip outside of the house. He knew that there was a separate way into the kitchen through the laundry room, which was connected to the garage. He had run there as quickly as he could, praying that that clone hadn't followed him. He was counting on its anger and pride getting the best of it, and as it turned out, he was right for hoping. He didn't bother with stealth any longer when he got into the laundry room. The washing machine and the dryer ensured that nothing he did could be heard by his clone. He saw where his clone was in the living room, how everything was perfectly positioned to ensure that he succeeded. He barely had to work at all. The rest, as they say, is history.

He walked over to where Jack was still slumped, unconscious. He inspected her head, determining if there was any damage there. Surprisingly, there wasn't any blood or signs of having a damaged skull. She didn't even have a concussion.

_Well, at least one good thing's happened today_, Alex mused.

He walked over to the cabinet, grabbed a small glass, and filled it with water. He then proceeded to dump it all over Jack's head. She reacted as he knew she would, sputtering, her eyes blinking rapidly, trying to breathe, and make sense of what was happening at the same time.

"Rise and shine, sleeping beauty!" Alex smirked.

"Alex?" Jack gasped, rubbing water hurriedly out of her eyes. "Please tell me that's you!"

"The one and only."

"ALEX!" she cried, jumping up to hug the aforementioned, currently wide-eyed boy. "God, I was so worried you'd die! And, how dare you try to get me to leave you behind to fight that freak alone!" She was glaring down at him now. "Or did you forget that I'm your guardian? I'm supposed to protect you and stuff and––Oh, my God! My window!" She pushed him away, though not too roughly, after noticing the terrible state at which the kitchen had been left in.

"Well," Alex started, "technically, this isn't _really_ your house. You're just living here at the moment."

"Oh, trust me, boy, while I'm still paying taxes on it, it's _my_ house!" she retorted.

Alex chuckled but quickly stopped after hearing another chorus of "Oh, my God!" from Jack. What was she going on about now? Oh, right…dead clone in the front yard…

"Alex," she yelled, "what'd you do to him…it…whatever!"

"It tripped?" Alex shrugged.

"Oh," Jack moaned, "someone get me my Advil. I can't take this. In fact, Alex, just knock me out again. I know I'll fill loads better if you do."

"Maybe for the moment," he said, grabbing the Advil from the medicine cabinet while also getting a glass of cold water that Jack would drink this time. "In the long run, however, you'd probably feel worse than if you were having a hangover."

"Mmm," she said, taking her medicine and chugging down the water. "Right. I think we should order take out or something since you saw fit to destroy my stew. What? Did you not _like_ it last time or something?" she teased.

"No, it sucked!" he grinned, teasing her right back.

They sat in silence, not sure about what to do about their current situation. Apparently, however, a decision was made for them because, at that moment, sirens from ambulances and police cars alike could be heard coming down their street until they all skidded to a halt outside their house, flashing lights and sirens blaring at full force. For once, it seems that their nosy neighbors from next door had finally come in handy.

As the police emerged from their cars, Alex and Jack sighed in unison. They had a lot of explaining to do.

* * *

_Fin_


End file.
